


As Clichéd as Clichés Go

by thecrimsonmonarch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Lawyers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 02:55:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7203560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecrimsonmonarch/pseuds/thecrimsonmonarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter wasn't known for his social skills, mainly because they were practically non-existent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Clichéd as Clichés Go

Harry didn't like handshakes. He thought them awkward, bothersome, and - for a relatively old-fashioned and conservative formality - oddly revealing, in the way that most people assumed that a lame shake belied a soft demeanor, and an overly strong one an overcompensation for something. So in order to achieve the perfect middle-ground - that firm and steady shake that said "Hire me" - Harry had practiced for _hours_ until the motion had become completely natural and automatic.

 _Now_ , as he looked at widening grey eyes, he wished with all his might that he hadn't.

**~First Impressions Last~**

First, a quick overview of our protagonist, Harry James Potter: 28-year-old unemployed lawyer; only son of well-known Members of the Parliament James and Lily Potter; recently dumped by his long-term girlfriend of three years, Ginny Weasley, under claims of "missing a 'spark'" (to which Harry - who at the time was too preoccupied to register the double meaning of the phrase - had replied with a completely serious "Go light a fire," _which_ had then in turn resulted in a full-blown fight that had ended with an _actual_ fire in Harry's living room, and Ginny screaming "There's your bloody _fire_ , you bloody idiot!").

Next, enter Tom Marvolo Riddle: 37-year-old attorney at Law; publicly-acknowledged illegitimate son of the late New York socialite Tom Riddle Sn. and retired Oxford Professor Merope Slytherin; _very_ recently made Partner at one of the most prestigious law firms in London, Slytherin Grindelwald; and, just a few short hours after receiving the good news, was informed by his Managing Partner Salazar Slytherin - who, by the way, also happened to be his _grandfather_ (yeah, yeah, it's a looong story) - that he was required to hire his very own personal Associate before his new title could be written in ink.

The scene in play: Thursday, 10:30 AM (GMT) at the Slytherin Grindelwald offices, wherein Associate candidate Potter is interviewed by Associate-seeking Riddle;

Also known as _when_ and _how_ the story starts...

"... back to you. Thank you for your time, Mr Potter," Tom Riddle said as he led Harry to the door. He swung his right hand forward, and Harry, well-practiced as he was in the art of handshakes, instinctively reached out to shake it. In fact, he was so, _so_ well-practiced that his personal pointers flashed through his mind in under a second:

 _One_ , a steady eye contact ( _'God, his eyes look so dull. Was it_ that _boring?'_ Harry thought as he looked straight into Riddle's glassy grey eyes); _two_ , pinky to index fingers together and the thumb up and open ( _'Please please_ please _don't notice the address of your office scrawled on my palm'_ ); and the last and most integral step, _three_ , a firm squeeze.

Right. You _know_ how it is in the movies, when something big happens and everything goes in slow motion, and then the character involved would say something along the lines of "It was like time stood still, dramatic music was playing in the background, blah blah _blah-"_ That wasn't the case here. Too many things occurred at once, and Harry's brain took a small moment to keep up. He was still hung up on ' _One, a steady eye contact_ ,' so the first thing he could register were the widening eyes of his prospective boss. For one glorious split-second, that was all Harry could focus on - until sanity returned and his hand flew away from the contact like it had been burned.

Shit.

Tom Riddle hadn't been about to shake his hand earlier. _No_ \- he was moving and reaching _towards_ the door to open it for Harry, and Harry ( _stupid, King of Idiots Harry_ ) had outstretched his own hand without thinking while Riddle was in mid-step and-

_Shit._

That wasn't a good handshake. That wasn't even a bloody hand he was about to shake.

"Ha..."

_'Three, a firm squeeze.'_

"... ha ha," Harry nervously laughed, his voice unnaturally high and stilted. "Er, that -"

Riddle wasn't moving. He just continued to stare at Harry with his blasted grey eyes - which, incidentally, didn't look so dull anymore.

A litany of curses punctuated by hysterical laughter played on repeat in Harry's head. Amidst the fuckstorm, he tried to compose himself, thinking of how one should proceed after such an awkward screw-up. What should he do? What should he _say_? _'Oh_ sorry _I touched your crotch. So yeah, about the job opening...'?_

A soft cough broke the tense silence. Harry's eyes immediately darted to the source and proceeded to re-focus on Riddle's composed expression. "Well," Riddle started, looking like the face of all that is proper and hard in the practice of Law-

and _that_ just did it. Harry waved his offending hand away in a bastardized version of jazz hands.

"Sorryexcusemegoodmorningthanksbye!" he choked out, word-vomiting every nicety he could remember on so short a notice.

Before Riddle could say another word, Harry was out the door, walking away from the room as fast as he could without straight-out running.

It wasn't until he was out on the streets did it occur to him to put down his still-raised right hand.

**~x~**

"Promise me you guys won't stop being my friends just because I'm in prison."

"Harry James Potter, for the fourth time: you're _not_ going to get sued for Sexual Harassment!" Hermione Jean Granger - PhD, and Harry's friend from University - exclaimed tiredly. At Harry's snort, she raised her chin, as if daring him to refute her. "Yes, _fourth_. I counted."

"'Mione's right, mate. You're overreacting," Ronald Bilius Weasley - Hermione's boyfriend of five years, and Harry's friend of fifteen - added with a shrug.

" _Over_ reacting?" Harry grabbed the popcorn bowl from Ron, glaring. How dare he eat _his_ food, in _his_ house, the ginger traitor. "I'm just reacting, Ron. If anything, you two are _under_ reacting."

It was the first time Harry had seen the pair since his and Ginny's break-up a week ago, and quite frankly, he hadn't thought he would see them again ( _well_ , at least not so soon). What with Ron being Ginny's brother and Hermione being her close friend, Harry had been thoroughly prepared to experience the whole break-up by association thing. As it turned out, it seemed that he had underestimated Hermione's sense of justice, Ron's inability to turn down free food, and, of course, their joint love of a little pastime quaintly called 'Laughing at Harry's Expense'.

"You need to go back in that office and fix this," Ron offhandedly mumbled as he tried to grab the popcorn back, undeterred by his glare.

Harry hugged the bowl protectively to his chest and moved as far away from Ron's reach as the three-seater couch in his living room could allow. "Oh, g- _reat_ advice," he retorted, effectively using Hermione as a shield from Ron's food-grabbing hands. "Really - I hadn't thought of that! Shall I go down there and ask if he'd want a handjob to follow up, too?"

Ron made a face and Hermione lightly slapped Harry's arm.

"Don't be crass," she rebuked.

Harry scoffed at her affronted tone. "Yes, Mother."

"There you go again," Hermione haughtily said, eyebrows raised and head tilted like she had known that that was what he was going to say. "I'm telling you, Harry, you really need to control your-"

"Hey, speaking of _Mothers_ ," Ron hastily cut in before Hermione could continue with what could only be another one of her theories about why Harry was so 'flippant around reprimands' _('It's because you're secretly an adrenaline junkie, Harry, and given your current lifestyle in modern London, the closest you could get to "getting high" is exchanging verbal barbs with people - so you break rules, antagonize authority figures, and subconsciously drop comments that could set off an argument that you, on some level,_ enjoy. _That's even_ why _you work in_ Law,' _etc.)_ , "Harry, _have_ you told your mother about this?"

Hermione's eyebrows rose a notch higher, seemingly ignoring the laws of gravity, not to mention human physiology. "That's right," she slowly added, looking all too happy to let go of a chance to psychoanalyze Harry for a chance to grill him instead, "what _does_ Lily have to say?"

It was a testament of Lily's complete ignorance of the mess he's gotten into when Harry would prefer withstanding Hermione's (completely ridiculous and untrue) theories over talking about the issue. Fortunately, the telephone rang before was forced to.

"Excuse me," he announced self-importantly, suppressing a breath of relief. " _I_ have to answer that call."

"Oh don't mind us," Hermione replied, waving graciously towards the telephone. She batted her eyelashes innocently. "That might be Lily."

"Or James! Hah, imagine how _that_ conversation will go," Ron said, pausing long enough to give Harry sufficient time to imagine. "Say hi for us!"

Harry's previous relief rapidly turned into trepidation as he approached the source of the ringing sound, James Potter's booming laughter echoing in his mind. Throwing a final curse at his so-called friends, he took a large breath and picked up the phone.

"Potter speaking."

"Mr Potter, this is Tom Riddle."

The laughter immediately died down in his head, and a very small part of him wished he himself had, too. He beseechingly looked at Ron and Hermione, attempting to send a telepathic message: _'It's HIM, and I'm going to defend myself in court, and I'm going to lose, because who are we kidding, Tom Riddle's got more experience than budding lawyer Harry Potter, and oh god I'm going to be somebody's bitch in prison aren't I-'_

But the two were just munching on his food, attention completely on his television.

 _'_ _Ingrates,'_ he thought, glaring at their heads.

Meanwhile, Riddle's voice continued to drone on through the small speaker.

"-Slytherin Grindelwald. After some very thorough-"

 _'_ _No,'_ Harry steeled himself. He wasn't going down so easily.

"Or so you thought!" he cut in. As of that moment, his mouth was running a few meters ahead of his mind. Recognizing this, his free hand covered his mouth in a last-ditch effort to stop himself from saying something he would regret. But then his _mind_ traitorously supplied him with images and details of what that specific hand had done to the person on the line, and he skittishly flung his hand as far away as he could from his sight (along with his last shred of reason, it would seem). A nervous chuckle escaped past his lips. "This is just an answering machine," he said with an exaggerated casualness. "A plain, innocent, _honest-to-god_ answering machine. Leave a message after the beep. _Beeeeep_."

Harry quickly placed the phone face-down on the table with the line still active, thus preventing the busy tone that would contradict his pathetic ruse from being triggered. For a moment, all he could hear were leftover echoes of the high-pitched beep he had issued. Then-

"Harry? Was that..."

He felt like he was underwater. He just stood there for a few seconds before nodding absently. He walked in front of the television and looked back at Hermione. "Riddle," he said, still unable to process much of what he had done. "Tom Riddle."

"What did he want?" Hermione murmured softly, like she was worried Tom Riddle might overhear.

Ron whipped his head back and stared wide-eyed at the telephone. The faint look of horror _his_ face - on the most obtuse person Harry knew - was enough to pull Harry out of his trance.

"How would I know, 'Mione?" he snapped quietly. "Did it sound like we talked much?" His actions were finally starting to sink in, and he wasn't feeling too good.

"Yes, as a matter of fact," Hermione answered, voice still lowered. "It did sound like _you_ talked much. _Too much, even._ "

"I can't look away," Ron squeaked, his hands rising to his face to shield his eyes from some terrible sight, only for his blue eyes to peek right back between his fingers a few beats later. "It's like a bad show that you know you need to stop watching but you watch anyway, because _bloody hell,_ this elevates self-destruction and humiliation to an _art_."

Suddenly exhausted, Harry rolled his eyes heavenwards. He collapsed back on the couch. "Shut up, Ron."

"Don't take it out of your friends, Harry," Hermione said. "This habit of yours of pushing people away during times of weakness just proves that your psychological make-up is very -"

"You, too, 'Mione," Harry groaned, tugging at his hair. "Just... shut up for a bit, OK?"

Ron and Hermione complied, but they shared a look that said they'd be laughing at this for ages; Harry failed to notice, busy as he was screaming into a throw pillow.

**~x~**

Come Monday, Harry found himself standing in front of a door he hadn't thought he'd see again. He adjusted his glasses, took a deep breath, rapped his knuckles sharply on the wood, and-

"Mr Potter."

found himself at the receiving end of one vicious glare.

Harry gulped. He took notice of Riddle's black suit jacket and matching tie and felt like he was attending a funeral. Whose, he didn't know, but judging by the intensity of the death stare directed at him, it could very well be his own. "Mr Riddle," he said in greeting, bobbing his head sharply.

Riddle simply stared at him, and Harry did his best not to fidget under the unwavering glare.

"In."

Harry's brows furrowed. "I'm sorry?"

At his confused tone, icy grey eyes showed a flicker of - did he catch that right? - _amusement_. "Yes," Riddle drawled, "you've already expressed as much before. Now come _in._ "

His hand reached out in Harry's direction, but unlike last time, Harry remained still. A very good thing on his part, he later realized, as Riddle's hand settled on the spot between his shoulder blades. Riddle then herded the bespectacled younger man into the room, guiding him towards one of two black plush chairs facing a large desk.

 _'Is he intentionally trying to make me feel like a pig about to be slaughtered?'_ Harry grimly thought. _'Because it's goddamn working.'_

The small pressure on his back lifted as abruptly as it came, and Harry watched Riddle wave at the chairs. "Take a seat."

He sat down and waited for Riddle to do the same, but the older man chose to lean on the dark wooden table instead. He looked down at his wrist watch, expression unreadable.

' _A lefty,_ ' Harry noted with dawning realization, only now registering the leather watch on Riddle's right hand. _That_ explained why he didn't initiate a handshake with Harry before.

Not that it mattered now.

"You have 30 seconds."

Immediately, Harry was snapped back to the conversation at hand. "I - erm, Mr Riddle," he faltered, suddenly out of his depth. All his rehearsed speeches went out the window with the announcement of a time limit. What the fuck could he do with 30 fucking seconds? Sing _Happy Birthday_ thrice?

"25 seconds."

Two and a half times, then.

' _Just blab!'_ his inner voice screamed at him. _'Ramble on like Hermione, and you're ace._ '

"Mr Riddle," Harry started loudly. Shit, too loudly - he sounded like he was kicked by a horse. He willed himself to calm down as he cleared his throat. "I know that what happened before was inappropriate, and for that, I apologise profusely," he continued in a more subdued tone, " _but_ it was just an accident, and I believe that that doesn't in any way lessen my qualifications for this job. And look, I've come back." For maximum effect, he tried a winning smile, but it must have looked more of a grimace for Riddle remained unimpressed. Harry coughed and decided to lose the burden on his facial muscles, changing tactics and going for serious unblinking eye contact instead. "Mr Riddle, I've decided to face whatever you might throw at me, just as I should have the first time around. This simple... _act_ shows humility, bravery, honor, dedication, _and a whole crate-load of energy -_ all of which only emphasizes how seriously I treat this opportunity to work for Slytherin Grindelwald, and how much-"

Riddle tapped the glass face of his watch with a fingernail. "Time's up."

Grey eyes met green in silent assessment and Harry absently wondered why he ever thought Riddle's eyes were dull. Hell, it was like saying that a newly whetted _knife_ was dull.

As if reading his thoughts, Riddle arched an eyebrow. He pocketed his hands and leaned slightly closer to Harry. "You were hired last Friday."

Last Friday...

"Er," Harry replied articulately.

_No shit._

"I left a message on your answering machine," Riddle clarified. "Didn't you get it?"

"Well," Harry said gruffly, "my answering machine's getting a bit… woozy."

Riddle's lips twitched slightly at Harry's choice of word, but it was gone before Harry could decide whether it was in distaste and/or amusement.

"Understandable," Riddle noted, "but irresponsible. Fortunately for you, I haven't called my second choice in yet. And I won't be, seeing as how... _convincing_ your little speech was." Riddle stood up and brushed invisible lint from his shoulder. "I assume you could start working immediately."

It wasn't a question, but Harry found himself nodding.

"Good," Riddle said. "I won't be available for the rest of the day, but my secretary would give you the tour and inform you of your duties. Welcome to Slytherin Grindelwald, Mr Potter. You may go."

Harry impressed himself when he was able to get up without accident. He was, after all, a bit dumb-founded.

Damn, was he really getting away with _everything_? Just like that?

 _Wow_.

" _Thank you_ , sir," Harry said sincerely. "I promise you, you won't regret this - not in the _slightest_ -"

"For both our sakes, please don't make any promises of the sort."

"I'm not limiting your choices on things to regret, of course-"

"Mr Potter." Riddle pointed at the door. "Get to work before I change my mind."

Harry grinned widely. "Have a good day, Mr Riddle." Feeling particularly courteous, he offered Riddle a proper bow before he turned for the door.

It took all his willpower not to skip as he walked towards the exit. He already had one foot out of the room when he realized that Riddle had followed him. Harry turned to face him and the taller man grabbed hold of the door before it could fully shut.

"By the way, Mr Potter?" he lightly said, his other hand rising to lean on the door jamb. "You better fix your... plain, innocent, _honest-to-god_ answering machine. Good day."

Harry's smile froze on his face. He thought he saw Riddle smirk then, but the door was shut too soon for Harry to be sure.

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a random idea that I've been playing with for a while. I'm not sure where it's heading, so just consider it as a one-shot/prelude thingggg


End file.
